


So Rewriting This Might Not Be Quite So Simple...

by Zayrastriel



Series: Rewritten [5]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: But okay I can feel the plot like oozing into this from the next chapter, F/F, F/M, YAAY, and I don't even know why, eurgh this took forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 14:53:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The plot’s thickening, and it seems like Lia’s the only one who doesn’t know. Yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AHAHA.

“We need Loki,” is the first thing Thor says when Lao’s finished talking, and isn’t _that_ a surprise.

Tony glances over at Natasha, who rolls her eyes.  He’s always liked her. Bruce looks like he’s trying really, really hard not to laugh.  Steve’s the only one who grits his teeth and turns to the demi-god with a forced smile.  “Look, Thor,” he begins, but Thor cuts him off.

“Say what you will about my brother,” he insists, “but if what this young lady reports to us is indeed the truth, then we shall need all the assistance we could possibly muster!”

Natasha shakes her head.  At first Tony thinks it’s disbelief (he can empathise) but then he realises with a sinking heart that it’s _thoughtfulness_.

“No,” he says, and then louder – “no.  No way.  Sorry, biceps-“ Thor frowns, “but no way are we working with your psycho of a brother.”

“Take care how you speak about my brother,” growls Thor.  “I know not what this ‘psy-cho’ word signifies but he is of Asgard and my family!”

Geez, does everything this guy say have to be accompanied by exclamation marks?  Like, _everything_.

“He’s killed forty-“ Natasha begins to point out, but Bree waves a frantic hand from where she stands across the room from them and mouths a furious _Noooo_. 

“I’m sure it was an accident,” Tony says, if only to distract Thor from glaring daggers at Natasha who, unsurprisingly, looks supremely unconcerned.  “And alright, sure, let’s get the dude on-board.”

 _As long as I’m not involved,_ he thinks, just as Natasha adds with sickening sweetness in her voice, “Tony, why don’t you go with-“

“Brianna, thanks so much for volunteering!” he yells, pushing the startled journalist out the door and waving a magnanimous hand at the hulking demi-god.  “Enjoy your brother’s company,” he says with manic cheer, practically pushing the man outside (and holy _shit_ the guy is built) and slamming the door behind them.

 

~

 

Loki takes Lia’s extremely faltering explanation of NSFW art remarkably well.  That is to say, he doesn’t blow off her head.

(Possibly because of the massive glass thing, but whatever.  She’ll take what she can get.) 

But then, after a couple of minutes of thoughtful silence as Lia quavers on the other side of the glass, he does something worse.

He starts asking her _questions_.

And not the easy questions like “are you crazy?” and “what’s your cell number in your asylum?  I want to make sure to avoid it”. 

The first one, with genuine curiosity in the demi-god’s tone, is a quiet “Why?’.

“Um,” she stutters.  “Sorry, what?”

Loki frowns at her, not in that _I want to kill you or at least cause major pain to you_ sort of way but in genuine _what do you mean, “what?”?_ “Why?” he repeats, more slowly this time, like he’s speaking to an idiot or an infant.

Come to think of it, to him she’s probably both.  He’s meant to be ancient, isn’t he?  And okay she’s totally a million times more mature than she was two years ago but even Lia’s got to admit that she’s not exactly the pinnacle of maturity.

“Um, I suppose because it’s…hot?” she hazards and winces again at the furrow in his brow, as though she’s speaking some sort of foreign language.  “I mean, like, don’t you have pornography?”

“Of course,” he says, once again with _are you stupid?_ in his voice. 

“Well, it’s the same thing,” Lia replies with a certain amount of relief. “It’s…I don’t know, sexually appealing?”

Wow, that sounds stupid even to her.  “And when it’s characters or people you know, it’s like, not just their bodies but their personalities?  I don’t know?”  This is awkward.  All of this is awkward.  She’s drowning in the awkward.  Oh god, she’s talking to a Norse demi-god about fan porn. 

“Hmm,” he says, once again with a certain amount of thoughtfulness in his voice.  “What a novel idea.”

“That’s us humans,” she tries with a really shitty attempt at cheerfulness.  “All novel and interesting and you totally shouldn’t want to kill us all because isn’t that like a total waste of fanfic ideas?”

Loki looks at her blankly again, and she’s about to go thump her head against the wall in the futile hope that that might actually knock something remotely resembling sense into her own head when she hears the smooth _hiss_ of the door opening behind her.

It’s Bree and…blond dude.  Demi god.  Thor.  She’s in a room with two gods.  Great.

“Hey Lia,” Bree says, looking supremely uncomfortable.  “Um…”

“Greetings, fair maiden!” Thor booms.  There’s no other word for it.  He _booms_.  With exclamation marks.  Terry Pratchett would probably say something about this.  “Your dear friend and I needs must have words with my brother alone!”

I.e. _I can leave_.  “Oh, thank _God_ ,” Lia sighs heavily, and then freezes, turning back to Loki.  “Not that this hasn’t been, um, fun.  Or enlightening.  Definitely enlightening.  Also, cheekbones.  Um.  I’m going to go now, bye.”

Miracle of miracle, she avoids running from the room.

She does, however, collapse a corridor away against the wall, staring into space and determinedly thinking about nothing but Tom Hiddleston’s cheekbones till after Bree and Thor have left Loki’s prison room and passed her by.

 

~

 

Bree can’t help but like Loki, which is potentially awkward and possibly counter to her contract with S.H.I.E.L.D – oh wait, _she doesn’t have one_.  Awesome.

Well, she likes Loki.  For one thing, while Thor is basically a giant adorable puppy dog stuffed into the body of a super-hot, super-muscled guy, there’s something really unbearably amusing about watching what seems to be the equivalent of a cat stepping on said dog’s tail.

Or feeding it to the dog.  Or something. 

Okay wow, she’s tired.

But eventually, she gets tired of Loki’s increasingly unsubtle and immature barbs while Thor flails with a mix of joy that Loki is talking to him and hurt at what he’s saying. 

“Alright, you two, shut up,” she finally sighs.  Maybe it’s just surprise at the fact that Bree’s actually talking, but they actually obey, looking around at her.

“I beg your-“ Loki begins.

She glares at him.  “Do you want to get out of your stupid cage thing or not?” Bree demands, and Loki’s face smoothens out.

“No doubt I will, in the fullness of time,” he says in what he probably thinks is a calm, ambiguous tone.  If she were writing an article about this, she’d go more for _smug_ and _obnoxious_.

“And that’s exactly what they want,” Bree replies firmly, with as much ominous _oomph_ in her voice as possible.

 _That_ brings him up short, as he narrows his eyes at her.  “What do you mean?” he asks, and there’s suspicion there, duh, but just enough curiosity that she knows he’s at least taking her seriously.

“I mean that someone’s using you,” Bree says.  “Using all of us.”

There’s a glint in his eyes; barely-checked fury at the idea of being _used_.

_I’ve got him._

 

 

~

 

That’s what she still thinks, walking out half an hour later and leaving Thor to attempt really really awkward conversation with his brother.  But she’s not sure, and the worry is spinning her head around – when do they need him by, what’s going to happen if he doesn’t decide to ally with them…

“ _Shit_!” she exhales as someone actually pounces on her and the smell of scotch stings at her nose.  Stark, then, and she sighs more heavily again.

It’s not that she doesn’t like him – she actually does, no matter how much they bicker.  But right now, she’s not in the mood.

Which is what she says.  “Not now, Stark,” and is it Bree’s fault if her words come out short and snapped?  Totally not.

“ _Breeeeeee_ ,” Stark fairly sings into her ear, arms wrapping around her in a too-tight hug.  “Come on, tell me what’s wrong-“

“I don’t want to talk to _you_ about it, God!” she exclaims, pushing Stark away.  She looks up to see the man’s face still.

“Oh. Right.  Okay.”

 _Great_.  “Look,” Bree says, rubbing her forehead wearily, “I didn’t mean it like – I-“ But it’s too late, because there’s a bright, natural-looking smile on Stark’s face that Bree knows from all those fancy dinner parties.  It’s the one he has just before he comes up to her and, with that same smile, hisses _“I hate these people_.”

“All good, Lao,” is his reply, before he turns on his heel and leaves her wanting to kick something.

 

~

 

Lia’s drifting through corridors aimlessly, still highly dazed from what was way too traumatic a conversation, when she hears some sort of commotion from the direction of Tony’s rooms.

She rounds the corner just in time to see Ara storm through the door, whirling on her heel (and almost falling over, but there’s too much genuine anger in her friend’s face for Lia to feel any real sort of amusement.)  “You know what,” Ara hisses at Tony, who’s standing at his door with a stunned expression on his face and a hand pressed to the rapidly darkening bruise on his cheek, “fuck _you_ , you _son of a fucking bitch_.”  She brushes past Lia, who only manages to avoid a serious collision by pressing herself as close to the wall as possible.

When she’s sure Ara’s out of earshot, Lia steps tentatively towards Tony, still frozen in the doorway.

“Um,” she says, which is eloquent.  “Uh, you okay?”

It’s probably better – Tony shakes his head a little, actually looks at her as though he can see her.

“Oh, Lia.  Hi” Tony sighs, and that’s enough for Lia to know something’s wrong. 

She steps forwards a little bit and he backs away slightly.  _Okay then_ , she thinks, _that’s not going to work_.

So what will?  Lia thinks back to Ara, the times when she’s in the middle of an attack, when she’s scared and disoriented, almost flighty.  It’s the same expression that she sees on Tony’s face; lost in some sort of pain she can’t understand.

Can’t understand – but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know what to do.

( _AND ISN’T THAT NICE FOR A CHANGE?_ )

 

~

 

Bree’s in the middle of…blowing off some steam…when Fury interrupts.

Nevertheless, she’s sort of got her composure together by the time she enters the room where Fury told her Lia was waiting (which is more than she can say for poor Maria, who looked like only her iron-clad self-control was stopping her from fainting.)

It drops away in a wave of guilt and irritation when she realises that Stark is standing next to Lia.

“What-“ they both say simultaneously.

Lia steps in between them, somehow managing to keep her eyes on both Bree and the billionaire.  “Shut up, both of you,” she says firmly.

It’s totally a _thing_ , Bree thinks as she automatically obeys.  When you spend too long not considering someone a threat, it’s just _weird_ when they actually step up and take control.

….And that sounded sexual.  She _is_ tired…

With a shake of her head, Bree’s back in the conversation long enough to hear Lia say, with surprising firmness, “Bree, apologise to Tony.”

 _Why?_ – it’s on the tip of her tongue, and then she remembers what she said, what Maria once told her late at night about his father.

The guilt rises up again, powerful and consuming, and drives the unforced “I’m sorry” out of her as she looks at Stark.

He looks all but ready to wave a dismissive hand, to accept with his mouth but not _really_ mean it, but then their eyes meet, and something seems to flicker.  “Yeah,” he says quietly.  “I know.”

She smiles slightly, and for a moment-

“Okay, okay, awesome, you guys have connected, great,” Lia cuts in.

“But – I should apologise to Ara-” Stark says abruptly, which makes no sense to Bree.

Her friend waves a hand.  “She’s easy.  Buy her a box set of all fourteen seasons of Supernatural,” she says, which is actually a good idea. “And if that doesn’t work, I don’t know, pay all the actors to never do another season again because if she complains one more time I’m going to kill her, I swear.”

Which is…a good idea.

But damn.  Bree was totally going to get Ara season 14 for Christmas.

“And now,” Lia says quickly, as though anticipating that one or the both of them are going to cut in with something, “can someone _please_ tell me what’s going on?”

Stark looks at Bree.

“ _Not me_ ,” they say in unison.

Lia just stares till they both sag where they’re standing.

“ _Fine_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lia dreams, and Loki joins her.  
> (JUST THROW ME OFF A FRICKING BRIDGE WILL YOU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOR LIA.

He doesn’t need to do this.  There’s no profit in this action, no potential long-term benefit that could be garnered from this.  It would certainly be rather more productive if it were his brother’s dreams (only _not_ his brother, and no matter what he says he can’t quite grasp that) or those of the man of iron that he was invading.

But instead, Loki is here.

Snippets and flashes of image-thought-feeling flicker through her head as he watches, amused and distantly concerned for the variety and sporadic randomness of her dream-world – one moment a flying castle, old and rickety, and the next a snowfield shadowed over by immense looming mountains, dark but for the dull illumination of two sandstone-red moons.

_He doesn’t need to do this._

He reaches out with a thought.  It’s been a while since he’s done this, since he’s had the luxury to indulge in this particular part of magic; but it comes surprisingly easily, a long-forgotten but easily-remembered gesture.

After that, it’s but the work of a minute to reshape the dreamscape; no longer a snowy beach but a bedroom, large and dim.

Her mind capitulates with surprising ease to this particular mould, and slides comfortably into soft sheets the colour of crushed emerald.

A flicker of confusion causes a flicker of light to ripple across the room, blurring the tapestries on the walls into a meld of colour but he holds fast instead of giving in, and a moment later it’s as real as can be in this realm.

She’s more _aware_ though, enough that she makes to sit up, contracting imagined muscles.

 _He doesn’t need to do this_.

Jet-black rope snakes out from behind the headboard to ensnare her arms and pull her back down.

 ** _You’re dreaming_** , he whispers, filling the air with the subtlest scent of _thisisrealbutnotrealsocalm_.  **_You’re dreaming, and this is what you’ve always wanted_**.

And from the way she only struggles briefly before collapsing back with a curious mixture of relief and fear and…

Interesting.

_He doesn’t need to do this._

With that strange blend of physical and mental sense, he runs a hand softly down her cheek.

She shivers but leans into the touch.

 _But I want to_.

 

~

 

At first, he does nothing but touch – fleeting, ostensibly innocent brushes of skin against hers and feeling the reaction in a myriad of emotion-feelings.  He keeps himself invisible at first, content to watch her with her eyes fluttering open-shut (screwed tight while closed, glazed and unseeing when open).

But when he feels her mind pushing, pushing to put a face and hands to the caresses against her stomach and abdomen, down the line of her back, he acquiesces with a slight hint of curiosity.

He’s not sure who’s more surprised, he or she, when that turns out to be Loki himself.

“ _You,_ ”she whispers. 

He almost startles but stops instead, forces his face into the half-smirk that used to infuriate his Father to no end; the one that always caused Sif’s face to redden as nothing before.  “Me,” he agrees. 

After that initial surprise, her face settles into the blend of fear and arousal that has been dominating her dreamscape since it reduced itself to this room and these sheets.  “What do you want?” she asks with a hint of forced annoyance, as though it isn’t obvious how she’s unconsciously leaning into the touch of his fingers against her cheek, how her legs are relaxed, open.

“I think the question,” Loki murmurs, leaning forwards till his mouth is near the curve of her ear, “is what _you_ want.”

Her breath hitches.  “N-nothing,” she stutters, voice breathy and confused.

“Really?” 

With the hand that isn’t still at her face, he strokes a line down her torso, in between her breasts (and where she had been wearing a cotton shirt and some sort of short trousers, there’s no fabric in between his skin and hers.)  Leaning back to see her face once more, he notes with some satisfaction that her cheeks are flushed.  “Are you sure?” he whispers.

And as she takes a breath to respond, he traces idly around the soft skin of her inner thigh.  Anything she might have said is lost in the keening noise that escapes her lips.

“Are you sure?” he asks one last time.

She gazes at him, eyes wide and trembling, breath shallow and quick.  “No,” she whispers, and he smiles.

 

~

 

 

The first thing, Lia does when she wakes up with a start, somehow wide awake despite having only had a couple of hours of sleep.  The dream is fresh in her mind – startlingly so – and as she rolls out of bed and goes to the mirror (her hair’s a fricking mess, though that’s not unexpected) she can’t help but blush tomato-red.

(Not as bad as Sean, but still.)

 _His fingers, the whisper of his voice, commanding and dark but full of promise, and_ …

GAH.

It isn’t till Ara pokes her head around the door with a half-amused, half-worried expression of concern, that she realises she said that aloud.

  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bree and Maria have a little fun.  
> (NO SERIOUSLY A BRIDGE PLEASE.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOR BREE.

Maria isn’t sure what makes her seek out Bree, or at least beyond the normal _I-want-to-fuck_ urge that she’s generally an expert at repressing.

(Something that annoys the hell out of Bree, but she likes this job and as tantalising as the idea is of having sex in a closet or something equally teenager, she really doesn’t fancy the idea of Fury walking in and firing her ass.)

(Ass.  When did she start saying that?  Post-Bree, she supposes.)

But this time she _is_ seeking out her girlfriend.

Which is why she’s more than a little put out when she finds Bree at her laptop, an uncharacteristic look of worry on her face, and in what seems to be no mood for sex.

“What’s happening?” she asks, leaning down to wrap her arms around Bree’s neck and rest her chin on the shorter girl’s shoulder.  And that’s how she feels Bree visibly jolt and snap her laptop closed, before Maria can see more than a couple of indistinguishable words. 

Bree whirls around on her chair, dislodging Maria’s grip.  There’s that smile on her face, that smile that’s so clearly plastered on it’s not even funny.  “Nothing much, why?” Bree says faux-casually.  Her eyes widen further till there’s more than a little hysteria in her voice.

It’s hilarious, and so obvious Maria wants to laugh.  She’s about to say as much; but then she remembers the last time they fought about work.

That can’t happen right now, it just can’t.

“No reason,” Maria answers, and then thinks _screw it_ and reaches out to take Bree’s hands in her own, pulling her out of her seat.  “Come on,” she says with a smile, as real and loving as she can make it.

Bree’s own smile relaxes into something real, warm.  “Where?”

She doesn’t think she can do _seductive-suggestive_ at all but she tries. 

And it seems to work; Bree’s eyes widen in surprise and she opens her mouth to say something.  Whatever the words are, though, they’re swallowed as Maria crushes their mouths together; swipes her tongue along the inside of Bree’s mouth and feels her shudder in pleasure.

~

They make their way to Bree’s room, being as obvious as possible in avoiding anyone who’d dare run to Fury.  Romanov crosses paths with them but offers them nothing worse than a glance and the slightest nod of her head.

She supposes the other agent owes her for all sixteen times she’s found Barton and Romanov in the refractory.

(They can’t find anywhere else?  Really?)

Bree barely waits till Maria’s shut the door and locked it for good measure before pushing Maria against the door and pulling her down by the collar of her uniform to kiss her.  This isn’t quite as violent as before; rather, it’s slower and more languorous.  It says _I’m in control and I’m deciding how fast this goes.  And right now, we have all the time in the world_.

Maria feels a slight sense of disquiet at that (but then Bree steps back slightly and unzips Maria’s vest, and all thoughts of demi-gods and alien armies vanish in an instant from her head.)

If Bree wasn’t particularly enthusiastic before, she’s the opposite now.  She’s got Maria’s clothes off before Maria can do more than blink.  “Bed,” Maria’s girlfriend orders.  Maria’s in no mood to disobey.

It’s only once she’s lying on her back that she realises just how exhausted and horny she is.  It should be a contradiction but it _isn’t_ – especially when Bree’s straddling her hips and leaning down to kiss her again, confident and controlling before lowering her head to graze her teeth against the soft skin of Maria’s neck.  The slightest nip at her throat leaves her gasping, loose-limbed and weak, with nothing else to do but to reach out and pull Bree back up to kiss her.

Her girlfriend acquiesces for a while, but all too soon Bree’s detaching herself from Maria despite her incoherent protests. 

“What ar-?” Maria begins, but the rest of her sentence devolves into an almost embarrassing moan as Bree shifts downwards to place soft kisses against Maria’s breasts, on the hollow of her stomach and finally…

She almost screams with frustration when Bree just _stops_.  “ _Bree_ ,” she growls, trying to put as much authority and command from work into her voice.

From the grin Bree shoots her, gently mocking, she wasn’t successful.

“Say it,” she says with a smile. 

For a moment, Maria has no idea what she’s saying.  But then…

“No,” Maria mutters, and then louder, more defiantly.  “ _No_.”

Her girlfriend leans back and shrugs.  “Fine, then, if you want,” and she makes to move off of Maria.

“ _No_!” she actually yelps this time. 

“Say it,” Bree repeats.

 _Goddamnit_.

“…Please,” Maria whispers.

The smile grows.  “Sorry, what did you say?  I didn’t quite catch that-“

“ _Bree_ , just shut up and-“

Once again, she chokes on the end half of her sentence.  Bree’s not talking anymore but Maria’s not really in a position to laugh at her about it.

~

When Maria’s lying in that warm fuzzy after-glow, she realises with a start that she hasn’t done anything to get Bree off.  “What do you want?” she asks, stretching out on the bed as Bree lies beside her, propped up on one elbow.

Bree smiles, with an unusual hint of shyness in her eyes.  “Well…” She trails off, sighs, and then rolls over to reach under her bed.

“Here,” she says, and hands Maria something.

 _Oh_.

It’s not that she hasn’t thought about it.  She just hadn’t thought Bree might have; and not in this way.  “Really?” she asks, just to be sure, and it’s hard to contain her anticipation.  It’s been about five minutes she got off, after all, and though this isn’t _for_ her, per say, that does nothing to quell the swell of arousal.

Bree responds with a kiss, rolling over to straddle Maria’s hips again.

They’re still like that when Fury walks in.

“ _HILL!  LAO!_ ”

…Shit.  Shit. 


End file.
